14 September 1942 — 1 October 1942
It took Ginny until lunchtime before she realized everyone was staring at her. In her defence, her lack of sleep and her ill-timed decision to go flying in the early hours of the morning had made her less vigilant than normal. It was testament to how terrible she must have looked that even her friends, who were used to her early hours, commented on how tired she seemed. Which was fine — it matched how terribly she was feeling.
"Do I really look that bad?" said Ginny, when she had caught on to the curious looks. It was almost as bad as the first day. "It's not my face, is it?"
"Do you want the nice answer or the honest one?" said Odette airily.
"How mad am I going to be?"
"I reckon you'll be mad with both, but you'll want to hex Abraxas less if you don't ask at all."
"Oh, stop it," said Margot exasperatedly. "No one's hexing anyone."
"I might," Ginny joked. At Margot's appalled look, she laughed.
"Don't let Briseis hear you say that," said Wendy, giggling.
"Where is she anyway?"
"Emergency Quidditch meeting," said Odette indifferently. "It's why everyone's staring."
Ginny glanced at her in askance. "Honest answer?"
"They're all wondering if you're going to make the team."
"But I didn't make the team."
"You haven't yet," said Odette, looking rather bored, "according to the forty percent who turned up during try-outs."
"Why would that make me want to hex Malfoy?"
"He's being stubborn," Wendy chimed in. "Everyone wants you on the team, you know. Abraxas is the only one who won't budge."
Ginny blinked. "Really?"
"Well, yeah," said Odette. "They're all saying you were good." She tilted her head, curious. "Were you really?"
Ginny scoffed. "Not good enough for Malfoy, apparently."
"Good enough for the team," said Odette offhandedly.
"They argued about it last night in the common room," said Wendy confidingly. "Of course, everyone heard them, and it's got everyone talking. . . ."
"I didn't know," said Ginny. She hadn't spoken to Briseis about the try-outs, and she hadn't realized it had caused such a fuss in the team.
"There's still a chance he'll change his mind," Briseis had said, when they had seen each other after the try-outs. "He hasn't decided on all the positions yet."
"You know Malfoy won't have me anyway," Ginny had replied. "Thanks for trying, Briseis, but you were right. I shouldn't have bothered."
She insisted they let the matter drop, and Briseis, with great reluctance, had agreed.
"You were with Dumbledore," explained Wendy, "and we were all asleep when you got up."
"I thought no one's supposed to argue with Malfoy," said Ginny, a bit cuttingly.
Odette shot her a pointed look.
"Don't be stupid," she said sharply. "Just because we don't like stirring up trouble doesn't mean we're all his yes men."
"But you've got the team vouching for you," said Wendy brightly. "Abraxas will cave, just you wait."
"Maybe," said Ginny, still doubtful.
But it seemed Wendy wasn't the only one who was sure Ginny had a chance.
That afternoon, during History of Magic, Black sat next to her with a resolute look, as if daring her to send him away. As the lecture began and everyone geared themselves for an afternoon nap — even Riddle seemed to be dozing off, and only Margot was taking copious notes — Ginny turned to Black, ready to demand why he was at her table and not at his usual spot, when he beat her to it.
"If Abraxas offered you a spot on the team, would you take it?"
"Why do you care?" said Ginny, surprised. "You're not on the team."
He gave her a long-suffering look. "What kind of question is that? The Cup, of course. I want to win as much as the next person."
She tried to gauge his sincerity. He looked and sounded annoyed enough, like he thought she was stupid to even be asking such an obvious thing, that she was tempted to accept his answer. But their dance during the party was fresh on her mind, and she couldn't help but wonder if he wanted something else too.
"It doesn't matter," said Ginny. "He's not going to give it to me anyway."
"I said if, didn't I? Use your imagination, Smith."
Her eyes narrowed. "If you're here just to insult me, kindly piss off. I'm going to take a nap."
"You obviously need it," he sniffed. "Just answer the question."
"Malfoy is not going to —"
"He will," Black said with such conviction that Ginny was almost inclined to believe him. "He doesn't want to, mind, but he's going to. Everyone knows you were brilliant."
"If you're so sure," she said impatiently, "then why hasn't he said anything?"
"Considering you hexed him, after I specifically told you not to —"
"I didn't hex anyone. I used a bloody charm."
"Semantics," he said dismissively. "The point is, he's wary about giving you the spot. The team's pushing him to do it, but he's not sure because it's you." He said the last word with barely concealed scorn.
She laughed humourlessly. "Yes — me, the fucking maniac."
"Abraxas hasn't announced the roster yet. He'll make up his mind faster if he knows you'll say yes."
"Why are you telling me this? Why can't Malfoy tell me himself?"
"You're kidding, right? After what happened?"
She scoffed. "So he's too scared and sent you to tell me —"
"I didn't say he sent me."
Ginny wanted to groan. They were talking circles around each other. "Then why the bloody hell are you —"
"I'm asking you," he said firmly, "because the team's too busy trying to convince Abraxas, but they don't know how to do it right."
But I do, went unsaid.
Black wanted her on the team. To win the Quidditch Cup, apparently, but she couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to it than that.
"So?" he said.
"If Malfoy offered," said Ginny slowly, eyes trained on his face, waiting for his reaction, "I would say no."
Black's jaw went slack before his mouth twisted into a disgruntled scowl. "Why did you even —"
"I tried out to play Quidditch, not start more fights," she interrupted. "Malfoy and I don't get along and we're never going to. I don't want to cause any more trouble."
"You're not joining because of Abraxas?" he said, his eyebrows rising. "That doesn't sound like you."
Something about his tone made her bristle. "I'm not joining because I've gotten into enough fights as it is."
"You have. Still sounds like you're quitting though."
Ginny felt her hackles rise. Black was right — it wasn't like her to quit. It wasn't like her to falter and be cowed, especially not by someone like Malfoy — but she hadn't thought of it as giving up. She had thought of it as compromising.
But what if it's not? she couldn't help but think. Where was the line, between quitting and compromise? How would she know, if she had crossed it? Would it really be quitting, if she didn't say yes when she could?
Maybe it was. . . .
"So what if I am?" she said wearily.
Black was silent as he stared at her.
"Abraxas acted like a right idiot," he said after a while. "He's not going to give you trouble if you join."
"Did he tell you that?"
"He doesn't have to," he said, his tone suddenly soft and imploring. "Just consider it, all right? He's not normally such a twat."
And Ginny did consider it, feeling more awake now than she had been when she entered the classroom.
She missed Quidditch. She missed the exhilarating adrenaline rush of flying. More than that, she missed the feeling of being alive, the feeling of being up in the air and thinking, Nothing in the world can touch me.
But that wasn't true, was it? She wasn't untouchable. Wouldn't saying yes just be another lie? Wouldn't it be accepting a semblance of normality and pretending like it was all right?
And yet. . . .
Wasn't this her new normal? This was her life now, her present and her future — as Dumbledore often reminded her. "Think of this as a second chance," he had told her once.
Ginny didn't know if this was what he meant by compromise, if she even could, but she had to try, didn't she? Wouldn't it be too much like giving up, too much like throwing away her second chance, if she didn't at least try?
At the end of the class, Black waited as she slowly packed her things, though he was usually one of the first out of the door. When she couldn't linger in the room any longer, Ginny said, "It would be a disaster, putting me and Malfoy on the same team."
"It might not," he said. "All's fair in love and Quidditch, yeah?"
"Hmm."
"Is that a yes?"
"If Malfoy asks me himself."
Black, incredulous, opened his mouth to protest.
"He's going to talk to me eventually," she cut in before he could, "if I'm going to be on the team. Might as well practice now."
He snorted. "Point taken."
They left for their next class. Ginny didn't entirely believe anything was going to come of it. Despite Black's certainty, she was sceptical Malfoy was going to give her the position. Black wasn't even on the Quidditch team — even if he was friends with Malfoy, how much sway did he really have in getting Malfoy to agree?
Ginny put the conversation out of her mind and focused instead on Riddle, who was acting stranger than usual. He wasn't as withdrawn as he had been during her detention, but he didn't approach her like he often did. He still sat with Margot and talked with those who came to him, but he seemed . . . detached was the only word Ginny could think to describe it. He was still his polite, smiling self, but his conversations with Margot, from what Ginny could see, were short and clipped.
Normally, she would see him pausing to chat with someone in the hallways or with his group of followers crowded around him. But that Monday, Ginny didn't see him outside of their shared classes — not in the Great Hall, and not in the common room — and it was much the same the next day. On Wednesday, as they headed down for breakfast, she mentioned it to Margot, who looked troubled and hesitated for a moment before answering.
"He said he wanted to keep his distance," she said. "He doesn't want a repeat of — well . . . you know. . . ."
"He's avoiding Malfoy?" said Ginny, disbelieving.
"Avoiding a scene," corrected Margot. "But everything will be back to normal soon, once it all dies down."
Waiting for the aftershocks to pass, Ginny remembered Margot calling it.
"You're not worried?"
"Well, I am," admitted Margot, "but Tom says he's fine and it's not like I can force him to talk even if he isn't, and anyway" — she lowered her voice — "it's not the first time it's happened, him and Malfoy. They haven't gone at it in a while, but Tom's always bounced back. He'll be all right."
Ginny couldn't tell if this was meant to reassure her or Margot herself. It didn't work either way. For Ginny's part, all she could think about was how Riddle was going to bounce back this time. Would it be the Chamber's opening? Was this feud with Malfoy, the humiliation Riddle must have felt at the party — was this the catalyst?
And if it was . . . was it Ginny's fault? Would Malfoy have said those things about Riddle, if she hadn't argued with Tuft? Because she had clashed with Malfoy once before — what if Malfoy had taken that moment, her argument with Tuft, as an opportunity to get back at her?
It seemed conceited and egocentric, to think that it would be because of her. . . . But hadn't Black warned her, before the dinner, about hexing people? She had dismissed it at the time, but what if he had said it because he knew something was going to happen?
But no. . . . The more she thought of it, the more it seemed like she was grasping at straws, trying to find connections when there were none. Maybe she was blowing Black's words out of proportion, putting meaning to something she didn't understand and missing the mark completely. After all, how could he have predicted she was going to rail against Tuft? It wasn't like she had planned on making a scene. . . .
For the third time that week, Ginny didn't see Riddle in the Great Hall. His followers, the usual circle that followed him, were all sitting together. She didn't know if it was because she was so used to seeing them with Riddle, but she thought they looked rather lost without their leader holding court.
Ginny was finishing her coffee, listening to Wendy's rant about how Divination was utter rubbish, when Malfoy appeared behind Briseis, who turned in her seat and looked up at him expectantly.
"We're having a meeting on Friday," he said. "You're free, right?"
"You're asking like I have a choice," said Briseis, smiling. "What's it for?"
"Sort of a dry run. I want the whole team there, all right? So we can see how the new blood will fit in."
Her brows knitted, and she glanced at Ginny quickly.
"We've got a final roster then?" asked Briseis, trying to sound casual, but it was ruined by her anxious look.
"Yes," said Malfoy.
Then he turned to Ginny. It looked like he was making a valiant effort not to grimace.
"There's an opening for Chaser," he said, in a tone that was carefully neutral. "It's yours if you want it."
Briseis gave a great gasp of excitement.
"Are you serious?" she said breathlessly.
"I wouldn't be asking if I wasn't," grunted Malfoy. "Meeting's at five o'clock. Are you coming?"
Ginny stared. So did her friends, their eyes flitting from her to Malfoy, their mouths agape.
"I guess I am," said Ginny, unable to resist smiling as Briseis broke out into a beaming grin.
Malfoy departed, and at once they launched into excited discussion about the turn of events. As they got up to leave for their first class, still giggling and talking over each other, Ginny turned to where Malfoy was sitting with his friends, Black right next to him. Black saw her staring, and he smiled at her brightly as they left.
In hindsight, taking Muggle Studies wasn't one of Ginny's brighter ideas. She had never been particularly fascinated with Muggles, and though she knew little about them, she never took the class during her time as a Gryffindor.
But when she had been sorted in Slytherin, a part of her felt like she had something to prove. When she had picked her electives, she had chosen Muggle Studies without hesitation. It was an act of defiance — because if she was going to be the girl out of time, who would never truly belong, who was a Slytherin but wasn't, then she was going to embrace the image of the outcast that she was.
And, she had thought then, it would be the one class where she would be free of her housemates, where she was sure she would be free of Riddle.
It turned out she was only half right. Ginny had learned this on her second day, when she had arrived in class and saw another student wearing a green and silver tie. Black hadn't approached her then, and she hadn't been eager to make friends, so they ignored each other throughout the period. She didn't think this arrangement was likely to change, but when she entered the classroom later that Wednesday, she found Black sitting at her table, as if he had always sat there.
For a moment, Ginny toyed with the idea of taking his usual seat, but he looked up and gave her the same smile she saw in the Great Hall.
"What did I tell you?" he said smugly. "Congratulations."
"Are you expecting a thank you?" she said as she sat down next to him.
"It'd be nice, yeah, but I'll settle for you not killing Abraxas."
"I'll be on my best behaviour," she said dryly.
"So will he."
She snorted. "You sound like his nanny."
"Feels like it sometimes," he said with a wry smile. "So what's a part-Muggle doing in Muggle Studies?"
"The easy O," she replied, though it was the course she was struggling with the most. "How're you here?"
"I walked up the stairs —"
"Oh, don't be smart. You know what I mean."
He shrugged. "I thought it'd be interesting. There's much we can learn from Muggles."
She looked at him in askance. "I thought your lot hated Muggles."
"Most of us do. Doesn't make Muggles any less interesting."
"You don't hate them?" she said, surprised and suspicious.
"How can I? I've never met one."
"I doubt your family has either."
"Touché," he conceded. "But they believe what they believe, and hate means I've got to care about all that."
Ginny frowned, scrutinizing him. Black looked nonchalant — not expressionless, like Riddle would whenever she pushed him too far or when he was hiding something. Black just looked unconcerned, like he was stating something obvious. Ginny couldn't tell if his indifference meant it was the truth, or if he was pulling her leg.
"Not everyone thinks the way you do," she said tentatively.
"It's a shame they don't." He glanced at her. "But it's lucky too, isn't it? Means we have one period all too ourselves, and not have to worry about people staring at you."
She had no time to ask what he meant, because the professor entered the room. The class was small, with only seven students across all four Houses, and it would be too noticeable if she tried to talk to him again.
They had Care of Magical Creatures next — yet another class Ginny didn't share with any of her friends, but unfortunately had with Riddle and his — and so they had to walk in the same direction. On the previous walks over, Black was always several strides ahead of her, but now he slowed his stride just enough that he was walking perfectly in sync with her.
Ginny kept glancing at him as they walked. There was so much she was itching to ask, but she didn't know how to say them without sounding paranoid. Still, she couldn't quite help herself, so she asked him the simplest one, "Why do you really want me on the team?"
Black met her gaze with arched brows. "Is House spirit not a good enough answer for you?"
"Please, Black," she said as they reached the grounds. "You expect me to believe that's why you're meddling?"
"It's part of the reason."
She looked at him expectantly, and he seemed suddenly uncomfortable.
"Your Briseis' friend," he said, looking away. "It means I have to be nice to you."
"You weren't nice before," she pointed out.
"You weren't friends before."
Fair enough, she thought, as Kettleburn's class came into view. "Do you always go out of your way to be nice to her friends?"
Black smiled sweetly. "Only the ones hard to please." At her glare, he snickered. "It's a joke, Smith. Grumpy today, are we?"
"Don't you assume I'm always grumpy?"
"Grumpy? No, no. Mental, though — absolutely."
"You're hilarious," she deadpanned.
He grinned maddeningly again, leaning enough that he was practically whispering in her ear when he said, "Glad you think so."
Ginny turned to give him her severest frown, but Black was sauntering to his seat before she could swat him away. Riddle's eyes followed her as she walked to her place at the back next to Nancy Kincaid, a Ravenclaw whose name Ginny had only learned when Margot had introduced them.
"Heard you made the team," said Nancy, who played Seeker herself. "Go easy on us, yeah?"
"You haven't seen me play," said Ginny. "Maybe you should go easy on us."
"You got everyone taking bets on your team's line up," said Nancy good-naturedly. "It'd be a bit of a let-down, if you weren't any good."
"No pressure then," chuckled Ginny.
A moment later, with a surreptitious adjustment of her robes over her figure, Nancy said quietly, "Don't look now, but I think Alphard Black is waving at me."
Ginny looked up. Black, sitting alone near the front, was casually waving at her with the hand not busy pulling out parchment and quills from his bag. She couldn't fathom why Black was sitting alone, but a casual glance in Riddle's direction — which he immediately noticed and made him glance back — showed that he had partnered with Raoul Lestrange. Something shifted in her memory — the argument Black had mentioned to Briseis before the try-outs, the conversation Ginny had overheard between him and Malfoy, the disgruntled expression Black had whenever Lestrange talked to Riddle and his lackeys.
Perturbed, Ginny gave Black a little wave back. She wasn't quite sure why, but she almost felt sorry for him, even more so when it seemed to perk him right up. She could still feel Riddle's eyes on her, and she could have sworn they narrowed into a glare after witnessing this little exchange.
Black approached her at the end of class.
"Mind if I walk you to lunch?" he said.
Ginny had half a mind to ask him why, to tell him he didn't need to bother, now that he'd done the good deed he felt obligated to give. But she remembered Dumbledore's and Briseis' words, and she remembered her own — she had to try. Even if it amounted to nothing, she had to try.
"Sure," said Ginny, and Black grinned that same inscrutable grin.
From her corner of her eye, she noticed Riddle, still with Lestrange and a pair of Ravenclaws, staring at them as they left. Ginny had a feeling Black did too.
Black was acting strange. It was as if someone had flipped a switch — like the ones that came with those Muggle light bulbs, that could turn them on and off with a click.
Only, in this case, Ginny didn't know what the switch was. Was it her yes to the Chaser position? Her shared walks with Black that Wednesday? Or had Briseis badgered him into it?
Whatever it was, Black started sitting next to Ginny in class. Each one they had together, he would plop gracefully into the empty seat next to her, as though he had been there all along. It had irritated her at first, because she did rather enjoy having a table to herself, but by the fourth time they sat together at the back of the room, she realized Lestrange had found new seatmates of his own. The space Black once occupied was now reserved for Mulciber or Riddle's other friends. Riddle himself was with Lestrange when Margot wasn't there.
But this problem with Lestrange couldn't be the switch. It explained why Black was now sitting with her, but it didn't explain why he was acting decent. He didn't need to, if the point was to avoid Lestrange. He could do it just as easily without having to talk to her at all.
And yet he did, and without his usual sneers and general disdain. His dry sarcasm had lost their edge and had turned into jokes and quips that made her laugh in spite of herself. When she would snap back at him or retort with a quip of her own, he smiled until his eyes crinkled, sometimes biting his fist to keep from laughing. He walked her to the classes she didn't share with her friends, and he waved at her in the hallways when they passed each other.
On the outside, they looked like they were friends.
Ginny didn't know if they were. She couldn't tell if it was an act, if all the jokes and teasing were as sincere as Riddle's smiles and charm. It was this realization that unnerved her most about the whole thing — that somehow, she could read bloody Tom Riddle better than she could read Black.
"Did you put him up to it?" Ginny asked Briseis, who was delighted she and Black seemed to be getting along.
"No one puts him up to anything," said Briseis, laughing. "I reckon he's just trying to be nice."
But why? she wanted to ask, but her friends were staring at her with looks that ranged from amused to bewildered, like they didn't understand why this was a question at all.
And maybe it wasn't. Maybe Black really was telling the truth.
Maybe she wasn't the only one trying to compromise.
Her friends weren't alone in noticing the change. Riddle, who still hadn't spoken to her by the end of the week, kept glancing over at her and Black in class, and she felt his eyes on the back of her head whenever they left the room. Every time she looked his way, he would hold her gaze for a second, unbothered he had been caught staring, before looking away, noticeably cross. For all his staring, he was still avoiding her — avoiding almost everyone, really — and it was disconcerting.
But Ginny understood why he was suddenly withdrawing from everyone. She did it too, after the Chamber, until Harry had approached her. She had been so embarrassed then, red to the roots of her hair, but he had pretended not to notice as he invited her to play Exploding Snap. It was just one game — Harry might not have remembered it at all, but Ginny did. She remembered how it made her feel a little less lonely. . . .
Tom had been lonely. That was what he had said, at any rate. She sometimes wondered if it was true, or it had all been lies. Had Tom really been lonely? Was Riddle lonely now? Would it matter, would it change anything, if he had his own Harry to reach out and pull him back?
Did he even want one, anyway? She couldn't say, when she saw so little of him these days.
Slughorn was avoiding her too. He had Margot and Lucretia Black supervise her detentions, and Ginny only ever saw him in Potions. Even now, he didn't look at her. As he peered at Black's cauldron, Slughorn kept his face carefully angled away from Ginny.
"Excellent as ever, Alphard," said Slughorn jovially. He glanced at Ginny's cauldron, sniffed, then waddled away to another table.
"So much for being a dab hand at Potions," grumbled Ginny as Black snickered.
"Like you miss it," he said, scoffing. "Admit it, you're relieved he's pretending you don't exist."
"I'm ecstatic," she said wryly, though she felt a bit guilty too, when Dumbledore had told her that Slughorn had given Malfoy detention after all.
"Who wouldn't? I wish he'd stop making me go to his dinners. . . ."
"You don't like them?"
"They're useful, don't get me wrong, but I don't care much for networking."
She glanced sideways at him. "Why do you keep going then?"
"It's one way to spend the evening. They're not usually so entertaining though."
Black said it so casually, that Ginny knew at once what he meant.
"So that's what the last party was?" she said, somewhat testily. "Entertainment?"
"As entertaining as watching a train wreck."
"Well, you said it yourself. Slughorn's acting like I don't exist. I doubt it's going to happen again."
"Fingers crossed," he drawled, but he looked anxious. Like he wanted to say something else but decided to bite his tongue.
Ginny suspected it was because of her upcoming Quidditch meeting. Throughout the day, Black seemed restless as Abraxas Malfoy's name hovered between them. Was he concerned she was going to attack Malfoy again? It was Black himself who assured her Malfoy won't give her reason to — so why was he worrying?
Briseis was also apprehensive, though she was more excited than anything else. She gave Ginny a veiled reminder to be nice — to which Ginny had rolled her eyes — when they met after class. As they went down to the pitch together, Briseis regaled Ginny with stories about the team's previous matches.
"Hufflepuff beat us by ten points last year," Briseis was saying. "Ten! So now everyone's dead set on winning. It looks like we've got a shot too — we had such a rubbish Seeker last time. The new one's much better. We're going to get the Cup this year, I know it."
It was a sentiment echoed by the returning members of the team, who were polite if a bit tense during the practice.
Malfoy, the Beater, had nodded at Ginny stiffly when she and Briseis arrived, but said nothing to her directly as they did their drills. It was the same with Byron Zabini, the third Chaser, who passed Ginny the Quaffle only once during the first half of the practice, despite her clear openings. Malfoy set him aside and told him off before she could. Zabini listened, but he regarded her with subtle disdain for the rest of the afternoon.
"I thought everyone wanted me on the team," said Ginny wryly to Briseis during their water break.
Lucretia Black, the Keeper, overheard this and laughed.
"We do, but that doesn't mean everyone likes it," she said with good cheer.
The new Seeker, Carolyn Fawley, was in the year below Ginny and was as good as Briseis said she was. It was too dark out to practice with the Snitch, so Malfoy had Transfigured some rocks into balls of the same size and instructed the Chasers to throw them in every direction for Fawley to catch. She had missed all but two, because of a ferociously hit Bludger from the new Beater, Neil Lament, a weedy-looking third-year with surprisingly good aim.
"It went well, didn't it?" said Briseis happily, when Malfoy ended the practice. Night had fallen by then, and Malfoy, Zabini, and Lucretia were waiting for Briseis so they could head to the Great Hall for dinner.
"You go ahead," said Ginny, lingering outside the changing room. "I'll catch up."
Briseis frowned and cast a worried glance at her friends. "Is it because —"
"No, it isn't that," said Ginny firmly. "Uncle wants me to stop by his office."
"If you're sure," said Briseis warily. "But it was fun though, wasn't it?"
It wasn't a bad practice, and knowing that it had passed without incident, it really could've been worse. There had been a moment while they were up in the air when Ginny felt the same rush and lightness she loved so much about Quidditch. It was a feeling she had missed dearly, but she couldn't quite appreciate it, when she was too aware of the team's grudging acceptance and the strained distance between her and Malfoy.
"Yeah," Ginny replied, with as cheerful a smile she knew how to put on.
The thing about her cover story was that it discouraged questions. It sparked curiosity, that was true, but they were too intimidated by her so-called uncle to actually ask. It meant that Ginny didn't have to worry about making and memorizing too many details about her backstory.
It also meant she had a ready-made excuse.
Ginny didn't feel particularly guilty about her white lie, knowing where it was she truly intended to go. Since she found herself in front of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom a week ago, she had been trying to talk herself into going back. She was going to have to go in eventually — how else was she going to destroy the basilisk if she was too terrified to approach the door? She needed to go in. She needed to confront the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets.
But knowing it needed to be done, didn't make the doing part any easier.
For the past week, she had managed to put off going back to the second-floor bathroom. Each time she tried, she managed to convince herself to avoid that particular corridor. She would have continued doing so without feeling too badly about it, if not for her impending Occlumency lesson with Dumbledore the next day.
Dumbledore was going to ask her about the Chamber, she was certain of it. She knew he wanted to, and he had been trying to ask her since before the term began. The only reason he hadn't was because she kept finding ways to evade the topic — by insisting they research more about the Chamber, by insisting they prioritize her Occlumency — and he was too tactful to force her to discuss it.
Yet the more he delved into her memories, the more he saw the Chamber through her eyes. Ginny had known it would only be a matter of time before he confronted her, but what was there to say? What could she say? She was too terrified to find the words — too terrified of it, to even approach the damn door.
And now she was here again, staring at the entrance of her personal house of horrors.
This was it, her chance to approach the bathroom, to go inside. Her chance to prove she had completely overcome her old nightmares, and that the Chamber had lost its hold on her.
If she could do that, if she could face this, then she would be able to talk about it. She would be able to confront her memories. . . .
Why, then, couldn't she move?
Ginny stood stubbornly in front of the bathroom's entrance, her jaw clenched defiantly . . . and yet her legs didn't step forward. Her arms refused to reach out to push the door open. She had built herself towards this moment for days now — longer, even. She hadn't dwelt on the thought, but she had known for a long time now that this confrontation had to take place, if she wanted to be rid of her fear.
But now that she was here. . . .
The minutes ticked away. With each one that passed, Ginny felt her frustration build. She felt taut and tight and utterly angry — at herself for being a coward, at Tom Riddle for breaking her, at whatever sadistic power snatched her out of time for forcing her to do this.
She couldn't do it. She couldn't go in.
Ginny tore herself away from the bathroom door and headed for the Great Hall. She tried to tell herself that it was all right, that at least she had managed to stand in front of the door without crying. That was progress, wasn't it?
But it didn't matter what she told herself. As she trudged back to where she knew her friends were waiting — her friends, who were oblivious to the monster that lurked under the school, to the one that sat at their table, to the wars and the horrors that could ensue — she knew it hadn't been enough.
At the end of her Occlumency lesson, Dumbledore poured her a cup of cinnamon tea. Ginny had never liked it all that much, but the smell of it reminded her of the Burrow and summer evenings at the dining table, back when things had been simpler. She tried to draw strength from the warm glow of the memory, as she willed herself not to fidget in her seat.
Dumbledore was peering at her from behind his glasses. She didn't know if he was looking for the words to say his piece, or if he was waiting for her to say something first. The silence seemed to stretch endlessly as neither of them spoke, and the clock ticked louder and louder in the quiet.
"I tried to go to the bathroom today," said Ginny at last, before she could change her mind. The words poured out of her, fast and feverish. "The one on the second floor, I mean. It's stupid but I couldn't — I couldn't go in. I tried but I couldn't, and I don't even know why — and I was there last week too. I don't know what I was thinking. I didn't plan to go, but then I was just there, and I couldn't even touch the bloody door and — and. . . ."
Dumbledore didn't say anything, and Ginny couldn't bear to look at him. Her eyes darted everywhere but his face and the Pensieve in the corner of his office.
"We don't know how to open it yet," she said. "Who knows if we'll even figure it out, but if we do — if we can open it before Riddle finds it, I . . . I don't think I can do it."
She heard rather than saw Dumbledore get up from his desk and drag his chair, so that he was now sitting in front of her.
"You don't have to go inside, Ginny," he said gently. "The basilisk needs to be killed, but it doesn't have to be you."
"I know that but —" She drew a shuddering breath. "It's so stupid. It's been years and I — I'm still too scared to go in."
She looked up at Dumbledore, half-expecting a patronizing gaze. She didn't receive one.
"It's all right to be scared," he said kindly. "Your experience in the Chamber was a terrible ordeal, and it's one not many others can truly comprehend."
She felt her mouth twist into something mocking a smile. "With all due respect, Professor, I don't think there's anyone who can. There's no one left."
"You have your memories. They're powerful things, aren't they? The worst of them are, perhaps, the only enemy you can't outrun. Certainly we can try, but the most we can do is delay the inevitable."
There was a look of painful longing on his face, and it was a look she often saw on her own. Maybe he did understand, in his own way. . . .
For a moment they sat together, lost in their individual thoughts. Then Dumbledore rose.
"As to the matter of opening the Chamber," he said, his tone apologetic, "I have yet to find another means to get inside. I take it I'm not wrong in assuming you're also having trouble in this regard?"
She shook her head. "If I knew, I would have told you."
"Ginny," sighed Dumbledore — a drawn-out, almost tortured sigh that moved through him as he turned to her again. "I think it's time for us to accept that, short of destroying the bathroom itself, the only way to open the Chamber is as Salazar Slytherin had intended."
Ginny felt a horrible jolt of dread.
"No, there's — there's got to be another way," she said, her throat was dry and itching. "Some way to circumvent that — there has to be. If there isn't, how can we —"
She swallowed hard. She had known this was coming, and yet —
A desperate brand of anger rose in her chest, and she struggled to keep it inside.
Dumbledore was looking at her, still with that same sad look. "What do you remember about the Chamber of Secrets?"
Ginny wished she was brave enough. She wished she could say she was done running, that she was ready to face the worst of her memories, but she couldn't. Six years later, and here she was, no different from the girl she had been at eleven, when she had walked to the Chamber to die — still weak and scared and alone.
"Nothing," she said. Her voice was hard, but it was a brittle hardness buried under Gryffindor bravado.
She knew Dumbledore could see it, and she fought not to tremble under his composed gaze.
"Perhaps we should discuss this another time," he said calmly.
"There's nothing to discuss, Professor," she said coldly.
Ginny stood up, knocking her chair back violently. Without waiting for his dismissal, she fled the room, her hands shaking uselessly at her sides.
The next day, when Ginny returned for her Occlumency lesson, she waited for Dumbledore to bring up their unfinished conversation.
He didn't, and she was all too happy to pretend he had never asked.
Riddle continued to keep his distance as September drew to a close.
He had slowly returned to normal, as Margot had put it. Though Ginny would dearly love to contest the meaning of normal, she could see what Margot meant — Riddle had showed up at the Great Hall the next Monday and had his admirers trailing after him and chatting with him in between classes. It was like the past few days had never happened.
Except it did, because Riddle hadn't once spoken a word to her. Ginny would have been content to leave it alone, to accept that this was, in fact, his normal behaviour — if not for the staring. It wasn't even friendly staring where he would smile when their eyes met, or where he would look away when he was caught looking.
He just stared, with that stupid look on his face — why it ever reminded her of Harry, she didn't even know. Riddle seemed wary, if anything, and she wondered if it was because he had figured out she knew about his Legilimency. Maybe he knew she was an Occlumens, and that was why he was staying away. . . .
Either Ginny was too attuned to him, or Riddle really was that discreet about his staring, because no one else seemed to have picked up on it. Margot certainly hadn't. When Ginny had asked her if she noticed anything strange about him, all Margot said was that Riddle seemed tired.
"He was probably out late studying," Margot had said. "He holes himself up in the library all the time."
That first day, when he was close enough for her to see it, Ginny did notice the dark circles under his eyes, bruise-like against his pallor.
Ginny tried not to dwell on it. She had too much going on as it was — homework, Quidditch practice, the Chamber — and she didn't want Riddle's stupid stares added to her list of worries. But she couldn't not notice it, especially when his looks sharpened into a glare every time she saw her with Black and especially with Malfoy. The latter, unfortunately, was happening more often than she expected.
She and Malfoy were a little politer than usual, but they weren't friendly or anything ridiculous like that. It was because of Black that she found herself in Malfoy's company with increasing frequency. Black was always waiting for them to finish Quidditch practice, and always insisted on walking Ginny back to the castle.
At first, Ginny thought he did it for Briseis, but one evening she found Black lingering in the stands when she had persuaded Briseis to leave without her. And wherever Black was, so was Malfoy, who seemed as bewildered as Ginny was. Black continued to ignore the awkwardness as they trudged back to the castle, swapping stories and inside jokes with Malfoy and, when she was with them, Briseis. Ginny felt rather like a third wheel, trailing after them, even when he and Briseis tried to include her as much as they could.
On one of these walks without Briseis, Ginny was reminded of Harry as she watched Black and Malfoy. She wondered if this was what Harry felt, whenever Ron and Hermione got into their heated rows. It was such an odd, unexpected thought that amusement bubbled in her chest until she had to look away and swallow her laughter.
Malfoy, noticing, glanced over at her with an irritated frown. "What's so funny?"
A smile itched to spread across her face. "Nothing. I just never pegged you for a Cannons fan."
He looked alarmed. It seemed he had forgotten she was two steps behind them, listening in.
Black let out a whoop of laughter. "See? Even Smith thinks you're delusional. Talk some sense into him, will you?"
"Cannons fans are a dying species," she chuckled. "Where's your sense of loyalty, Black?"
It occurred to her later, as she left Black and Malfoy to search for her friends, that it was the first time she had thought of Harry, of home, and felt something other than a wave of loneliness.
Slowly, Ginny found herself settling into a routine of classes, Quidditch practices, Occlumency lessons — and friends. Inexplicably, Black had become one of them. Maybe she had simply gotten used to his presence, since he was with her almost every hour of the day, but she had grown to appreciate his humour and his company. There were moments when he reminded her of Ron — when he got too passionate about Quidditch teams, when he cracked a joke that made her snort with laughter — though she knew her brother would balk at the comparison.
But her wariness of Black hadn't faded away completely. She couldn't forget how much he seemed to know, how much he seemed to see when he wanted to look.
Even now, Black was looking, and he saw Riddle's odd behaviour as clearly as she did.
"What happened with you two?" said Black during their Charms class, when he saw Riddle's gaze flicker in their direction.
"What makes you think anything happened?" said Ginny coolly. She tried often to ignore Riddle's eyes on her face, but the bits of parchment Black kept flicking at her was harder to ignore.
"One minute, he won't leave you alone; the next, he can't stand to be around you. What's wrong with him?"
I ask myself the same thing, she thought. She glared at Black and brushed the torn pieces of parchment to his side of the desk.
"He stares at you so much it's a wonder he gets any work done," he said, insistent as ever.
"He could be staring at you, for all you know."
Black stopped shredding his parchment and looked up lazily, blinking behind the dark fringe of his hair.
"Oh, trust me," he said bitterly. "I'd know."
Ginny was taken aback by his tone. She realized then that she had never actually seen Riddle and Black interact. She knew they hated each other, if only because of Malfoy, but she had always assumed Black was someone caught in the crossfire of Riddle and Malfoy's rivalry. That it wasn't actually personal between him and Riddle, and that Black didn't stray from the side-lines. Maybe that wasn't the entire story after all. . . .
Black snuck a glance at Riddle, who had gone back to practicing the Disillusionment Charm with Margot. When he looked back at Ginny, he was smirking with far too much amusement.
"What did you do?" he said. "Did he actually listen when you told him to fuck off?"
Ginny was tempted to tell Black to fuck off right now. It was hard to tell with him, sometimes — if his asking was meant to probe, if he knew he was delving into dark spots with his questions. Because that was what Riddle did, and for the life of her, she couldn't tell if Black was the same.
"I could ask you the same about Lestrange," said Ginny lightly.
The ease straightaway slipped out of Black's expression. He rubbed at his jaw like it was sore, looking away. "How'd you figure that?"
"Took your advice. I started paying attention."
She thought that was the end of it, as he had gone back to quietly tearing his parchment. He looked thoughtful, which was a bit unnerving, coming from him.
"Raoul chose his side," he said softly, after a while. "It wasn't Abraxas', and it wasn't mine."
Ginny sat up straighter at this sudden information. She was dying to pry, to ask since when and what and why, and was a little frightened by how isolate this made Black. Which was a strange thing to think, because he had his family and he had Malfoy and Briseis — but there were times when he struck her as . . . lonely, almost. He had to be, to some extent, if he was seeking her out all the time. Sometimes, he still looked at Lestrange, at his old table, with an anxious, searching look, before he sauntered over Ginny's with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
It was this same smile that he put on as he looked up at her. With a newly regained casualness, Black said, "So, you and Riddle?"
She rolled her eyes. "Hell if I know. I guess he just got sick of my company."
"Not the other way around?"
"It's rude to pry, Black. Anyone ever tell you that?"
"Alphard," he said, almost hopefully. "I'm not the only Black in the school. Might get confusing."
Alphard started to tear his parchment again, flicking the pieces at her face and hair. Ginny tried to keep a straight face, but mad or not, it was hard to keep from catching his boyish glee.
"Yeah, it might," she said after a moment. She removed the bits of parchment that had caught in her hair, scooped them all in her hands, and blew it in his face.
They snickered, and Ginny tried to pretend she didn't see the scrutinizing look Riddle shot over his shoulder.
The last weekend of the month arrived, and again Ginny waited for Dumbledore to ask about the Chamber. The questions never came, and she lay awake staring at the green hangings on her bed, unable to ignore the sinking swell of relief, fear, and guilt in her stomach as her roommates slept soundly, oblivious.
And because she felt all these things, she covered it up the only way she knew how, and honed in on what was familiar and easy: anger.
How could Dumbledore not ask? How could he simply ignore it? He shouldn't have humoured her for this long — why had he even done it in the first place?
You know why.
Ginny got to her feet, crept out of her bedroom, and out the common room. She couldn't let this go on. She couldn't keep acting like there wasn't a problem. She had to go to the bathroom again, she had to face it and pass through its doors once and for all —
She stood outside the kitchens, swearing under her breath.
Coward, she thought. You're a bloody coward and if you don't get your act together, people are going to die . . . it'll be your fault, it'll be because of you all over again . . . Harry wouldn't be running like this . . . he would have just gone in and gotten over it. . . .
This late at night — or was it early in the morning? — Ginny knew the house-elves would be asleep. When she got inside kitchens though, it wasn't as empty as she had expected.
Because Riddle was there. Of all the rotten —
"I didn't think anyone would still be awake," said Ginny mildly. If there was anything she learned growing up with her brothers, it was that when in doubt, tease. "You're not going to dock points, are you?"
"It would be hypocritical of me if I do," said Riddle, smiling.
"This is the second time you've let me get away with rule-breaking. I think all that power's going to your head."
"No one's perfect."
It was a joke, she realized, like something he might have said to Margot. He had lightened his tone, but his eyes were as sharp as ever.
"You make a good show of it," said Ginny, a bit more pointedly than she intended.
"I'm flattered you think so," said Riddle, shaking his head. He blinked once, and his lips had the slightest downward turn — the perfect picture of innocence. "Though I'm not entirely sure if you mean it as a compliment."
"You'd be flattered anyway."
Ginny set about making a cup of tea, aware of Riddle's eyes on her. When she had finished, she took the seat across from him — it would feel like cowardice, a show of weakness, if she didn't. She had had enough of that for one night.
Riddle's eyebrows rose, but he said nothing. Taking a careful sip of his hot chocolate — and what a thought, Voldemort drinking hot chocolate — he looked at her over the rim of his mug.
"So," said Ginny, because clearly he was back to denying her existence, "what's got you up at this hour? Reading again?"
"Transfiguration homework, actually," he said smoothly. "I've been putting it off at the last minute."
"That's not the Tom Riddle I know."
He stiffened and stared at her with that look of his — the one she had been seeing so often it might as well be a permanent fixture on his face.
"Professor Dumbledore isn't easy to please," he said calmly, but there was a hint of suspicion in his voice, perhaps a bit of anger too.
She shrugged. "Well, I guess, if you're aiming for an Outstanding. I just hand in whatever gets me a passing mark."
"Hmm."
It was a bizarre role reversal. Somehow, Riddle was now the one struggling to appear calm, to hide his irritation under a veneer of politeness. Now it was Ginny imposing her unwelcome company, the one prying information out of him.
The difference between them, though, was that she had never had the patience for his tactics.
"Why are you avoiding me?" said Ginny plainly.
If he had been taken aback by her bluntness, the only sign was the slight furrow of his brows. "Why do you think I'm avoiding you?"
"Because you are. I'm not an idiot." When he didn't say anything right away, she continued, "It's because you're embarrassed, isn't it? I get it. I would be too, if it were me."
That got a reaction, just like she knew it would. Though his expressionless shutter slid back into place, it wasn't fast enough to hide his scowl.
"If you feel that I'm avoiding you," said Riddle sharply, "I can assure you, it's not out of embarrassment."
"Why's there an if? I know you are, Riddle."
"Have you considered that I'm simply stepping back? I don't go where I'm not wanted."
Ah. So he had finally clued in then. Should she deny it, pretend she didn't know what he meant? Or should she go ahead and just say, Oh, you finally noticed, did you? Took you long enough.
"That's never stopped you before," said Ginny carefully.
He tilted his head the way an owl did when it locked in on its prey, and she didn't the look of it one bit. "You never did answer my question."
"Which one?" It seemed that was all they ever did really, in these little talks of theirs — ask and ask, and never answer.
"About you not liking me."
She remembered. All she told him was why she never called him by his name. She should have known he would notice; she should have known it would come back to haunt her.
"The best lies are half-truths," Fred had told her once, winking conspiratorially. Ginny had been too young to understand it then, but she knew what it meant now — she had learned that lesson from Tom.
"Well," she said witheringly, letting her annoyance show, "I don't exactly like your damn staring. It's rude and uncomfortable."
Riddle didn't deny it.
"You act like I don't exist, but you keep staring at me like" — a total creep — "I don't know, some jigsaw puzzle or something. If you're going to avoid me — oh, sorry, step back — then you bloody better do it right."
To her surprise, he looked amused, his mouth curved into a half-smile.
"Well?" she said when he still didn't answer.
"I'm sorry," he said. It wasn't the light teasing tone from before — it sounded like he was stifling a laugh. "I wasn't aware you were asking a question."
Arsehole.
Ginny glared. "You know what I'm asking," she said stubbornly.
Riddle appraised her with that same strange look. "You are a puzzle. I don't understand you, Smith."
Smith.
Not Ginny, but Smith.
"What's there to understand?" she said blandly. "I'm pretty transparent."
"You're not. I still don't know why you defended me against Malfoy."
"I told you —"
"You did," he interrupted, leaning closer. "But if you truly believed what you said, you wouldn't befriend Malfoy and his ilk only days after."
There was no mistaking the contempt in his tone, the unspoken condemnation. Ginny felt her temper flare. How dare he? How dare he judge her?
Him. Bloody Voldemort was judging her.
"I'm trying to compromise," she said, doing her utmost to keep her tone even. "I've tried knocking sense into him, but it hasn't worked, has it? It's not going to get him to stop believing his own rubbish, so why should I keep fighting on my terms?"
A dark look clouded his face. "So you're just ignoring it. You're letting it pass —"
"I didn't say that — I said I was compromising. Malfoy's not going to listen to me, so I'm going to fight him on his terms. He's not going to change unless I do too."
"What an astute observation," he said dryly, "but you're wrong if you think he's capable of change."
"Everyone's capable of change — it's up to them to decide if they will. You've got no right to judge me when you're doing the same thing."
His eyes narrowed. "I don't consort with people like Malfoy."
"Because you can't. Don't pretend you wouldn't if you could. You can't get Malfoy to change his mind about you, so you go with people who can — people like him, but easier to bend. You got Lestrange following you around, don't you? He's cut from the same cloth, isn't he?"
Riddle scowled so deeply it marred his good looks.
"I suppose you think you know me so well," he said coldly.
"You're not as mysterious as you like to think," she snapped. "So don't go all silly and dramatic on me. You're bad enough with all that swooping."
"Swooping?" he echoed, truly caught off guard, which was always something of a victory when it came to him.
Ginny didn't mean to mention it, but she had seen how Riddle tried to stay out of everyone's way after Slughorn's party. Now that he had decided to interact with them mere mortals again, it made the extra swish to his robe when he stalked the hallways even more obvious.
Admittedly, she hadn't noticed it at first. It had been Alphard who had pointed it out. "It's like he's gloating," he had sneered.
So Ginny had looked at Riddle more closely, when she was sure he had his back turned. When he passed by the pure-bloods who looked down their noses at him, when he had the other half of the Slytherin lot at his back, she saw what Alphard had seen. Something in the way Riddle walked, in the way he stared back at his rivals . . . there was an undercurrent of threat, of the wrong sort of power, that reminded her of a boy in a diary.
"The way you've been walking lately," said Ginny. "I can tell you've been practicing it."
The blush that stained his cheeks was barely there, but it livened up his pale features so much that she remembered — he wasn't that boy at all, not yet, not really.
"I'd almost think you've been keeping a close eye on me," said Riddle, dry as dust.
"I'm observant. Don't let it go to your head."
He tilted his head, sending his unusually mussed hair flopping.
"Why are you even here, Smith?" he said, glaring at her.
She glared back. "I'm drinking my bloody tea," she said coolly, though she had yet to drink from the cup she was cradling in her hands.
Neither of them moved, their gazes unwavering.
Then Riddle laughed. Not the dark laughter she remembered from Tom, not the short chuckles he used to appease Margot and his followers — but a laugh he seemed to be trying to smother yet spilled out anyway.
"I shouldn't have bothered, should I?" he said.
"What?" she said cautiously.
"I never fooled you. You've always seen through the smoke and mirrors, haven't you? Tell me, what gave it away?"
Ginny didn't like this — the way he shifted closer, the way his face lit up in the darkness of the room. She didn't like it at all.
"I've met boys like you before," she said stiffly.
"Have you?" said Riddle, mirth dancing in his eyes. "I can't say I've ever met anyone like you, Smith."
"Maybe you've never bothered to look," she glowered. "If you stopped your bloody staring —"
He laughed again. "I didn't realize it bothered you so much."
"You know damn well it did," she said irritably.
Riddle looked at her, trying to read her face, and Ginny braced herself for the brush of his mind against her own, the familiar prodding of his Legilimency.
But it didn't come. He met her eyes for one moment, two, then glanced down at her cup of tea.
"Cinnamon, isn't it?" he said, smiling faintly. "You should drink it before it gets cold."
He left before she could say anything else. Ginny sat there, fuming, and wondered what the hell had just happened.
On the first day of October, the dates for the Hogsmeade weekends were announced. With the first trip only a little more than a week away, the school was abuzz with excitement.
Ginny and her friends were makings plans for the trip, on their way to their second period of the day, when Lucretia Black approached them holding a roll of parchment.
"For you," she said, handing it to Ginny. "Professor Dumbledore wanted you to have this."
Lucretia hurried away, and Ginny pulled open the parchment and quickly read its contents.
Come to my office after class, the soonest you are able.
It was surprisingly curt, for Dumbledore. What could be so pressing that it couldn't wait until their Occlumency lessons? Dread laced its way down her middle, and Ginny tried to ignore it as she hurriedly stuffed the message in her bag.
"He wants to see me after class," Ginny explained, seeing her friends' curious looks.
Odette sighed. "What did you do this time?"
"Nothing!" said Ginny indignantly. She was certain she hadn't done anything, at least. "I reckon he just wants to talk over tea or something."
They continued to talk about Hogsmeade as they entered the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, where Alphard was already waiting for Ginny at their table. He too was excited for the Hogsmeade weekend.
"Ever been?" he asked.
"A few times," said Ginny. She had yet to visit in this time period, and she couldn't help but wonder how much it had changed in fifty years.
"Well, you better go. I'm bullying Abraxas into buying us a round of butterbeer."
"Us?"
"Us," he repeated, as though this made sense. "Bring who you like. I'm sure Abraxas won't mind."
She couldn't quite comprehend what he was saying. "Are you . . . asking me to go to Hogsmeade with you?"
He blinked at her. "Yes?" Then realization dawned on his face, and he laughed. "Not as a date — just as friends. First trip of the year, the three of us always go together. I don't think Abraxas will care if you bring others along."
"Er," she said uncertainly. The three of us, Alphard had said. "I think he might."
"You don't have to stay with us the whole day, if you've got plans," he said reassuringly. "We'll just meet up at the Three Broomsticks."
Still, she was reluctant to answer, and he noticed her hesitation.
"He doesn't think you're all that bad, you know. Don't tell me you're still afraid of him."
She threw him an irritated look. "I've never been afraid of him."
"Prove it."
"I'm not going to say yes because you're calling me 'chicken' —"
"Then say yes for the free butterbeer. It's not going to leave a dent on his wallet, anyway."
Alphard gave her a hopeful, lopsided grin, the flash of his teeth lightning-white in the dim classroom.
"Fine," Ginny relented. "But if he starts a scene —"
"Yes, yes, it'll be on my head. You'll have the satisfaction of hexing him and saying 'I told you so.'"
That was as far as they could say on the subject before their professor arrived and the lesson began.
Later that afternoon, when her classes were over, Ginny made the long trek from the dungeons to Dumbledore's office. On the way, she found Margot, Nancy Kincaid, and a long-limbed, olive-skinned Hufflepuff she recognized as Leonard Wright.
"Hey, Ginny," said Margot. "We're going to the library. Want to come?"
"Tom will be there," said Nancy, giggling. "He's been asking —"
Leonard cut her off with a sharp look, and Margot looked faintly embarrassed. Ginny felt like she was missing something more than an inside joke, with Tom Riddle's name lurking in the air around them, but she didn't care enough to pry.
"Sorry, I can't," said Ginny, glad to have an excuse. "Uncle wants to see me before dinner."
"I forgot about that," said Margot. "Oh, well, see you later!"
"See you!"
"Another time then," said Leonard, smiling.
Ginny waved at them as she left and pretended not to hear them whispering.
"We'll tell Tom —" she heard Nancy start, but both Margot and Leonard cut her off with a "Shh!"
Ginny really didn't want to know.
When she finally arrived in Dumbledore's office, the panic she had been fighting since receiving the letter had risen again. The grim look Dumbledore wore did nothing to assuage her worries.
"Professor Kettleburn spoke to me this morning," he said, when she sat wordlessly in front of his desk.
Ginny mentally flipped through her memories of the past week. She couldn't recall doing anything in Kettleburn's class that would warrant this reaction. . . .
"It might not mean anything," cautioned Dumbledore, "but a third-year Gryffindor student was found outside the castle after curfew."
Her apprehension grew. "Was it Hagrid? Is he in trouble?"
"Ginny," said Dumbledore, graver than she had ever seen him, and she felt a terrible sense of foreboding. "He found dead roosters out in the grounds. Silvanus confirmed it this morning — all the school's roosters are dead."
